


Join My Downline

by 2towels



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Keith is just hot okay give Lance a break, Lance overthinking everything tag, Lotor tries to pitch his MLM to Lance a lot, M/M, MLM stands for Multi-level marketing not the men loving men but that's there too, Mutual Pining, So Lotor's selling Monat like to clarify not men loving men, Strangers to Lovers, They're all there but I named the main speaking roles, Trigger Warning: MLMs, Who's here in 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2towels/pseuds/2towels
Summary: There is a wind ruffling outside and a leather clad arm is pushing in the door, windchimes (door bell) signaling his entry but unneeded because there is no chance in the universe Lance would miss such an opportunity as to see his approach. He’s going to order a black coffee with an extra shot. He has no dark circles today. He is wearing leather bracelets today, light and tanned compared to his dark and shiny jacket. The aforementioned wind is kicking up the messy bangs on his forehead and hidden beneath them, tucked by the ridge of his eyebrow, is a small, red pimple.-Lance is endlessly gazing at Keith's radiance. Also, Lotor is there and the worst.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 125





	Join My Downline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmeme/gifts).



> My wife was drunk and really likes MLM drama so she asked me to come out of hiding and write and post this happy June

There’s a macchiato at the tips of his fingers and Lance is once again too busy eyeing the door to remember to grasp it. Allura stands at the other end of the drink, eyes boring holes into Lance’s temple and smile stiffening as each moment passes. Unbeknownst to her, however, there is a wind ruffling outside and a leather clad arm is pushing in the door, windchimes (door bell) signaling his entry but unneeded because there is no chance in the universe Lance would miss such an opportunity as to see his approach. He’s going to order a black coffee with an extra shot. He has no dark circles today. He is wearing leather bracelets today, light and tanned compared to his dark and shiny jacket. The aforementioned wind is kicking up the messy bangs on his forehead and hidden beneath them, tucked by the ridge of his eyebrow, is a small, red pimple.

Shiro is there, too.

Every part of Keith is a breathtaking masterpiece. He walks with a confidence and the entirety of his personhood is announced with each heart-wrenching boot stomp. Lance wants to rub the easy-going hunch out of his back, smooth the creases of his eyebrows with a soft thumb, wants to hold him and be ravished by him and—

The cardboard cup settles on the counter and Allura manages it with an intensity Lance knows he should attend to. “Hello, Shiro. Hello, Keith. The usual for both of you?” She says casually, like she is not addressing one of the last gods among men. “Don’t mind Lance, he’s moving out of the way.”

And Lance does, fumbling for his cup and stepping aside to pretend he’s deciding on a pastry in the display case. Coran made carrot cupcakes again, which are disgusting, but he knows Keith orders one when he comes in the morning sometimes—even though he’s never seen him actually eat one. The cream cheese on his nose when he takes his first bite…it’s almost too much to bear thinking about.

“Large black with an extra shot.” Keith says, even though Allura’s already handing him the cup. It sounds like an inside joke and Lance knows it is one because he’s heard him use the same before, but it’s not an inside joke for _him_ , so he doesn’t laugh even though he thinks it’s cute. Instead, he buries his lips into his drink lid and slurps it— _too loud_ —he changes quickly to a mild sip and burns his tongue.

He’s going to say something this time, he really will.

“What do I owe you?” Shiro says, his smile radiant but blocking Lance’s view of Keith as he leans forward with his alligator arms.

“Bring me lunch.” Allura decides, looking pointedly at their restaurant-front across the street through her large windows facing the street. Lance can tell, though he can’t quite see as far, that the _Back in 5 Minutes_ sign is pressed to the door, so it must be slow enough for both of them to stop by. Maybe Lance will get lunch there, too. See Keith sweating over the grill. See him flip a burger—Oh god.

The illusion is shattered, though Lance is in the middle of counting the change he can see he left on the counter when he wasn’t paying attention trying to decide on whether that’s enough for a delicious Keith-flipped burger. He thinks he can even get a cheeseburger and fries. It’s all ruined, though. Completely wasted, despite Lance’s lips already fallen open to finally speak something nearby Keith. An order for a pastry, but speaking something near Keith nonetheless. It’s never going to happen, though, because Lotor is here. He slaps the door open with a clammy, disgusting, and spindly hand. He waltzes to the counter and hums and haws behind the pair of seasoned beautiful people. Shiro nods and wordlessly agrees to bring Allura a burger and strawberry shake as they depart.

Keith glances back at Lance, but Lance is too busy fighting the creepy crawly feeling that has invaded all of his senses.

Lotor says, “Iced green tea lemonade.” He flips his greasy hair, “Can you add some fruit to it as well?”

“In the cup?” Allura asks, clarifying even though Lotor also always orders the same thing that’s just going to end up with nasty mushy fruit in it. Lotor agrees, Allura finishes the purchase, and if Lance’s legs didn’t lock so much from seeing Keith he would be able to avoid it, but Lotor catches him before his senses return and says, “Oh my gosh, Lance, I’m so happy to see you!” Like always.

“Mhmmmmm.” Lance says into his cup, willing his eyes to be stronger without his glasses so he can see Keith’s ass crossing the street. It’s so toned, he knows, and he’s missed it and won’t get another chance for who knows how long.

“I guess you don’t check FaceBook too often, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you about putting together a little party with a bunch of the old gang!” Lotor continues. He grabs his drink from Allura without bothering to glance or thank or do anything and Lance feels bad their hands may have brushed. Feels horrible for Allura, actually. Nobody deserves that.

_The old gang_ , though, that always gets Lance.

“Yeah, uhh Rolo and Blum and…” He sees Lotor’s eyes flit to the side for the quickest of seconds and realizes he’s accidentally named someone Lotor might not have remembered himself from high school. He’s inadvertently fed them to the wolves. He hopes it’s Rolo, if anyone, but damn.

“Yeah, those guys! I’ve been meaning to catch up with all of you! It’s been _too_ long, and I’d just love to tell you all about how much fun I’ve been having with my new business! You know I never mean to brag, but _look_ what I treated myself to just this week.” He turns the hand with what will soon be strawberry mush on ice in it, and there is a glittering……hunk of glass, he bets, on it.

Lance says, “Wow.” It’s very emphatic. “I bought a Porsche, myself.”

“Wow!” Lotor says, knowing he’s lying but very good at whatever you call this talent of his in conversation. “That’s nothing to blink at, looks like we’ve both found some success! Don’t discount your happiness, though, every time I see you I _can’t_ help but think you need to treat yourself even more.” He steps forward, and Lance is already against the pastry case so he can’t step back too and suddenly there’s a greasy pair of fingers in his hair, right by his ear, touching the shell of it. He sucks a breath in, surprised and disgusted. “Lance, come on, _what_ are we going to do with these grey roots starting to show? You deserve better.”

Lance, twenty-three years of age, freshly baby-faced from college no more than mere months ago, does not have grey hairs. He knows he doesn’t, because he has eyes and if he had grey hair at this age he would have a bigger collection of very specifically shaded root dye. He ducks his head quick and knocks his nose into his drink, splashing a little on his cheek.

Lotor tsks, swiping it away without a thought or care in the world. “You know, I can set you up with some Monat trial sizes if you start checking that FaceBook and write a sweet review. I’d love to be able to do that for you!” Lance turns on a dime and finds the room to edge away.

“Oh, I’ll think about it.” Lance promises. “I’ll get back to you sometime about the party, too. I make a mean dip.” He gives Allura a little salute as he’s working his way backwards to the door, and Allura picks up his money he left on the counter and pointedly puts it in the tip jar.

Lotor grins, eyes gleaming, and he winks at Lance as he takes his seat and pulls out a laptop with a holographic _#BossBro_ sticker across the entire cover. “I look forward to it, I’ll send you a message about those samples just so you don’t forget!”

“Great, thanks.” Lance says, finally turning for the door and feeling frustration at himself and a specific kind of time-wasted embarrassment heat his cheeks. It is brought to a head when the door opens before he can reach it, and he barrels into the soft chest of an apron-clad, jacketless Keith.

“Sorry.” Keith says, eyes wide like saucers as he looks down at the awkwardly posed Lance, who is staring down at the drink spilled across Keith’s apron like it has stolen all joy from him. “Are you okay?” There’s a cardboard takeaway box in his hand with a fancy little _Allura_ written across the side, and a milkshake in his other.

“Yeah.” Lance says, and that’s it. “I’m fine. Sorry.” That’s the first thing he’s ever said to Keith.

With the cherry popped, Lance can’t seem to stop himself. “I wasn’t—Uh, I don’t always look where I’m going. Sorry. That’s my bad. My drink—It’s not. Well. I can get you a new apron? It looks like a good one, so I can uh—just tell me where. At least it’s not seeping through. Unless it is?”

“It’s fine.” Keith says, staring at his face like Lance is painted blue and has fins. “My boss has tons.”

“Great! Good.” Lance is staring into his eyes. “That’s good. I’m sorry. I’m in your way.” He steps to the side, and when he does he realizes his hand was on Keith’s strong shoulder, where he had tried to catch himself. Inches away from soft and messy black hair tied in a little ponytail behind him. He probably wears a hairnet.

“It’s fine.” Keith says, stepping forward and making a face when he probably thinks Lance can’t see, but he can, and without another word Lance slips by him out the door and thinks about that weird little face for the rest of his life because he’s going to die now knowing Keith looked like that after running into him. What a terrible, awful, no-good day.

Lance crawls into his car with defeat and dread in his bones and when he rests his head on the dashboard Hunk kindly says, “Why does every trip we take here take forty minutes?”

* * *

The next time Lance finally returns to the Altean Café after days spent too embarrassed to face Allura, who will not say anything rude but will be all-knowing of his feelings and shameful thoughts about her other patrons, he does it strategically at a time when he knows he’s never run into Keith before. He’s not ready. He needs time to heal. He’s been trying to look at other hot people, and it isn’t the same, but it’s quelling a deep pit in his stomach that is slowly making it easier to go on with each day.

Hunk also wanted a drink, and missed Allura, so he’s there too. That’s not the only reason they’re there, though. It’s definitely all of the first stuff.

Lance goes after Hunk, and Hunk steps to the side to chat with Allura when he’s done ordering because they always have things to talk about that brighten both of their eyes. Lance orders quick and simple but not too fast as to hint to Hunk that Lance is here almost every day and wasting his money away for chance glances at a burger-flipper when he can go across the street and see him instead. It would be a whole ordeal of a conversation that Lance could not explain away with just, well, liking coffee.

He’s going to treat himself, so he gets something with tons of whipped cream and Allura laughs when he tells her how much whipped cream he wants exactly. Next size up cup just to accommodate it levels of whipped cream. Her eyes glance up and she gives her own secret smile when someone enters the café, but Lance doesn’t ask and instead focuses on working up to ask her to cut him a middle piece brownie out of a not-ideal spot on the brownie pan.

“I’ve got it.” A sturdy voice says behind him, setting a card down on the counter where Lance’s ten dollars was going to go. It was a voice suited for only a god among men—or a dwarf—or some kind of sexy sturdy thing.

Lance is frozen stiff by it, and Hunk notices it, and Lance wants to be sucked into the floor. “Oh.” Lance says, “You don’t have to—I’m going to get a brownie, too—”

“I’ve got it.” Keith says again, and when Lance looks back at him finally he has his jacket thrown over his apron and his hairnet Lance hypothesized is still in and he’s wearing…a beautiful, debonair smile. “For your drink earlier this week, no problem.” He flits his eyes away to Allura, willing her to swipe the damn card faster so he can bolt probably, and Lance hesitates but smiles back.

“He got it.” Allura says, taking the card and typing the brownie in before swiping it. “What piece, Lance?”

“The middle—” He says without thinking— _idiot_ —and before he can correct himself Allura slides the tray back and cuts into the pan efficiently, setting it on the counter behind her when she’s done probably to repackage anyway.

“Whattup, man.” Hunk cuts in to introduce himself before Lance can say thank you a million times, “You’re working at Shiro’s grill, right? I _love_ that place; we’re heading over for dinner.”

“We are?” Lance asks.

“We are.” Hunk says, grinning at Lance over Keith’s head. “Kinkade’s meeting us there.”

Keith blinks, “Oh, you know Kinkade?”

“My own boyfriend.” Hunk nods, and Keith sticks out a hand to shake.

“We work together at the bar over weekends, I’m Keith.”

Lance scrambles to file all of this at once in his brain. Why does everyone have to have a crush on Kinkade? Here Lance is, throwing himself on the café counter, and Kinkade steals the show again. “Thanks.” He says awkwardly and quietly when Allura hands him his drink and brownie.

Allura nods and leans against her register monitor to speak to the pair. “The ATLAS? I didn’t know you worked there, Keith.” She cuts her eyes to Lance and Lance is offended because of course he doesn’t need any more prying on his behalf.

“I do an early afternoon shift Friday through Sunday, so I mean I hope you have better things to do than be at the bar those days, but I see Kinkade a lot passing through.” Lance cringes at the idea of ordering a beer at noon but will do what it takes, he decides, for love.

Hunk watches Lance unwrap his brownie awkwardly and take a bite and decides to take pity on his best friend. “Well, we have to get going, but it was good seeing you.”

“Yeah, for sure. Good meeting you. See you guys tonight then, I guess.” Keith laughs a little awkwardly and heads out, no coffee in hand. Lance feels like he’s going to faint and is so confused.

“You comin’, Lance?” Hunk says loud enough to make sure Keith hears his name, and Lance wants to crawl into the floor because Hunk is being _so obvious_ and he loves it. Now Keith knows his name. Maybe. There’s a chance.

Allura laughs when she glances at Lance again. “Get the onion rings, Lance, they’re amazing.”

“You are both so evil.” He’s very pleased, though, and he can’t hide that enough in his brownie.

* * *

Kinkade did not meet them there. Neither did Hunk, for that matter, because he’s a terrible friend who wanted to watch Planet Earth instead and Lance, not wanting to disappoint Keith in case maybe he was expecting them or something, wanted to be faithful to their commitment.

(Hunk was a wonderful friend, he’s not actually going to watch Planet Earth, and he knows exactly what he’s doing.)

So, Lance grabs a table, specifically one made for sad single people in a booth that can fit a person and a half and _that’s it_. No implication of a larger party, no lonely looks from people who think Lance got stood up. Just him and the burger he’s going to eat. With cheese. And onion rings.

“What can I get for you.” A girl asks, tone bored, ignoring someone asking for ketchup two booths down and politely and intensely fixing all attention on Lance’s embarrassed face.

“Pidge~” Shiro sings from somewhere in the back of the restaurant, and she turns her face entirely into a smile that looks like wax and turns to the other patron, “I’ll get that for you in just a jiffy.” She turns back to Lance, “And for you, sir?”

“Just a cheeseburger with no pickles and onion rings.” Lance says quickly, fiddling with his thumbnail.

Pidge says, “There’s no pickles anyway, so we can do that one for free, buddy.” She jots it down but looks like she doesn’t really finish writing it before walking away. “8 minutes. Keith! Cheese and rings!”

“Yes, chef.” He hears from the back of the restaurant. Lance allows his eyes to follow where the noise comes from, seeing the top of Keith’s messy hair in a hairnet. He should have sat at the counter, where he could see better, but he’s a fool and he’s stuck now. Keith looks busy, he’s such a hard worker.

Lance completely neglects to notice Pidge had returned, probably finishing her ketchup run. “I forgot to ask for your drink.” She says when he doesn’t notice her there.

“Oh.” Lance says, glancing quick at the menu and not reading anything. “Water.”

“Coke’s free.”

“Coke.”

“Gotcha. Bee are bee.”

Lance can feel his eyes go sappy and brain go numb. He settles his face in his hand and watches nothing but the wisps of bangs every moment or so ducking and returning to place a plate on the counter for Pidge to sweep by and pick up.

“Keith!” Lance hears Shiro say as he appears from the back of the restaurant. He’s tying an apron on, “Go home!”

Lance hates his life.

Keith looks up, surprised, and when he glances up presumably to a clock he laughs too quiet for Lance to hear from all the way across the restaurant, but he can see the twitch of his lips now that he’s wearing his glasses. His eyes glance out across the pick-up counter and he, like the scene in the titanic, locks eyes with Lance from so far away. It’s beautiful, and Lance will tell their children about it, because the momentary surprise and quick smile that eases onto Keith’s face, unguarded, melts Lance to the core.

But Keith ducks his head again quickly, and Lance is broken from his stone-still position to realize he’s staring at Keith and probably freaking him out.

If Lance were looking, he would be able to watch Keith grab Pidge’s elbow gently and ask her something once he’s out of the kitchen. He would be able to see Keith flash back into the back and grab a plate and a cup, scoop ice into it haphazardly, and fill it with coke while glancing back a few times. He would be able to see Keith hesitate halfway on the way to his table. See Keith look up at the ceiling and take a breath before starting again and find his way to Lance’s table.

But he doesn’t, and all he sees is Keith set the plate down and slide in across from him, pushing the coke forward. “Hey, Lance.”

Lance says, eyes owlish, “Hey, Keith.” He mechanically picks up an onion ring and shoves it in his mouth. It is boiling hot, and he chews through the pain while opening his lips slightly to vent out some of the heat.

Keith smiles, gently at first and a little warmer when he glances away. “I just got off work, are you waiting for someone or can I join you?”

Lance talks so fast he forgets to swallow first, throwing a hand forward to urge Keith to stay. “No, that’s fine. Please.”

Keith nods, smile not wavering, and Lance feels a smile of his own bloom in return. Keith glances at it as it does, and Lance gets a little self-conscious, but he can’t help himself anymore, feeling so lucky to have Keith join him. “Pidge!” Keith calls a little down the row of booths, “Can I get chili fries?” She throws him a thumbs up in return.

Lance loves chili fries, too. That’s amazing.

“So, uh,” Lance says, poking at his burger while it cools, “Do you like working here?”

Keith watches him. “Nah.” He confesses, “It’s just something to do right now. Shiro’s my brother.”

“I know,” Lance says, then freezes. “Uh, sorry, that’s weird. I’m friends with Allura and you guys seem so friendly.”

Keith takes it in stride, “Yeah, I figured, I see you there all the time. Allura jokes that you’re the eye candy.”

Lance’s fingers freeze on another onion ring, brain melting out of his ears.

“She should be giving me free drinks if I’m pulling that much weight at the café.” Lance decides on saying, measuring his words because he can’t believe he’s having this kind of conversation with the sexiest man alive.

“She should!” Keith laughs a little, somewhat awkwardly but Lance can tell he’s not used to being so forthcoming. Lance, himself, isn’t used to being so withdrawn, so maybe they’re both out of their comfort zone. “You are.”

“Hey, Lance!” A shrill, awful, terrible, disgusting voice is heard over the sounds of angelic harps. Small heels click on the tasteful tile flooring. They stop at their table.

“Oh my gosh, I haven’t heard from you, I’ve been waiting for a text!” Lance feels himself slide down the back of his booth chair and involuntarily hide his face in his collar. Keith’s smile falters when Lotor glances at him, and he steals one of Lance’s onion rings and chews thoughtfully while he sizes him up.

“Introduce me to your friend here, Lance. He looks like he’s just dying to know about this great business opportunity I’ve been telling you about!” Lotor begins rummaging in his _#BossBro_ stylish fanny pack.

“I’m good.” Keith says, smile tight. He looks to Lance again and seems a little surprised when Lotor starts talking again.

“You know what,” Lotor says, as if something just occurred to him, “Lance, this is exactly what I’m talking about. Look at this shine your friend has, here.” He reaches some greasy fingers out to snap at a lock of loose hair, and Keith dodges deftly with an irritated glance. “This is the kind of look you could be having, you know what we’ve been talking about?”

Lance feels his cheeks color, knowing for a _fact_ he doesn’t have grey hairs or dull hair but not wanting Keith to have those ideas planted in his brain when he’s trying to silently and awkwardly _woo_ him. “Sorry, um, I haven’t had the chance to—”

“We’re in the middle of something.” Keith snaps at Lotor, “Go somewhere else with this.”

It’s...rude. So rude, actually of Keith, but so satisfying to hear him say to Lotor and more than a little dashing of Keith to step in for Lance like that. He peeks up at Lotor to see him blink languidly and flick his greasy hair behind his shoulder. “Okay.” Lotor says, “Roll it back, attitude. I’m just trying to run my own business here.”

“This is someone else’s business.” Keith dismisses. He steals another onion ring. “And whatever you’re peddling Lance doesn’t need. Bye.”

Lance finds himself smiling and hiding it behind his hand. Lotor has a sharp _tsk_ leave his mouth before Lance hears his little heels click away, and a long, loud breath leaves his mouth when he’s out of earshot.

“What a moron. He didn’t even buy anything.” Keith huffs at Lotor’s retreating back.

“He buys like a small thing and hangs out to hand out business cards, he does it all the time at Allura’s, too, but…I’m not really good at talking to him. He recognizes me from high school which is _super_ awkward but a little fun because half the time he can’t remember what we know each other from so he’s just caught in a weird and long loop of pretending to be just the right level of familiarity.” Lance unpacks, rambling and twisting his burger in his hands before finding the perfect first bite. “Anyway, he’s the worst and he keeps telling me my hair is grey and it’s driving me nuts.”

Keith scowls, eating another onion ring. “Should probably mind his own business outside of private ones before he catches trouble.”

“Are you in the mob or do you just talk like you are?” Lance says into another bite.

Keith’s scowl softens and he snorts, “Just talk I guess.” Pidge deposits chili fries in front of him and he starts working on those instead. “Still, that guy sucks. I’m sorry he talks to you.”

“It’s alright. I deal. Uh, so.” Lance swallows thickly, “What’s your favorite color?”

* * *

Lance has an unsurprisingly wonderful time having dinner with Keith, and he learns a lot about him, but he is cursed by incompetence, and as such he was too nervous to get his number at the end of it. There was a hesitance, where he walked Keith to his motorcycle and Keith looked like he had something potent to say, but instead they fist bumped and went on their merry way separately.

So, Lance is back at the café days later, and Allura seems to be the wiser of the two of them, giving him a pitiful glance when he comes in and snickering at his following frown.

He thinks he might hang out and see if Keith shows up, but he hesitates when he sees Lotor is already there. His laptop is open, and maybe he got the hint now, so Lance wonders if he can take the risk and hang out without being locked onto like a gazelle in the plains.

Allura asks, “What can I get for you?” because he’s standing there gaping into her seating area.

“Coffee.” Lance says, turning to her and blinking. “A lavender moon milk with foam.”

“That’s not coffee.” Allura says, “Do you want a blueberry scone? I saved one for you.”

Lance leans against the counter, tapping his fingers against the little mat to make signing receipts easier. “I would _love_ a blueberry scone, Allura. Do you ever feel like your brain has melted out of your head? I can’t focus on anything anymore.”

“Sure.” Allura turns her back to start on his moon milk, “Sometimes. When you’re overwhelmed, your brain decides not to be around to rest instead. It’s a good indication of when you need a break, too. More simply, it’s a good indication of when you need to be honest with yourself.”

“That’s a nicer way to put it than I would have.” Lance finds himself saying, looking up and away. “I think I might start taking walks.”

Allura turns to him and he can see her smile poke over her shoulder. “Sure.” She grabs a pair of tongs to grab the scone and slips it into a little paper bag. “You could walk here for work.”

She settles both the moon milk and the scone on the counter while she looks to him expectantly, and Lance sort of doesn’t comprehend what’s been presented to him until he reaches for the moon milk, stops, and lets the gears in his head turn.

“You want me to work here?” He asks dumbly, looking around as if he’d never seen the café before.

Allura turns around again to putz at the machines and it does not pass Lance’s notice that she’s bribing him by not charging this time. “You look like you need something to do.”

Well, he does. She’s got him there. It’s been a few months since he got his degree and he’s still waiting to hear about his Masters program because he procrastinated, so he’s got no shortage of loans to apply a side hustle to directly. It might be good to do something a little isolated in its own little compact eight-hour shifts. He can have more blueberry scones.

“Okay.” Lance says, “When should I start? Is it bring-your-own-apron?”

Allura says, “I don’t wear an apron, but I can get Coran to monogram one for you if you want, you know there’s no real uniform here. You can start tomorrow.”

“I’ll figure out a look, don’t worry. Thank you.” He says it sincerely because he means it that way, and Allura and him share another smile. She’s a good friend, always receptive when he needs it and firm when he doesn’t. And she looks tired, so he likes thinking he can be helping her at the same time as helping himself to an old environment in a new way. “Really, Allura. Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

It’s easy enough to get the hang of things, despite Lance’s initial confusion at the very intentionally complicated menu.

“Coran designs drinks to entice and bewilder.” Allura jokes when Lance starts to realize the true extensiveness of the menu he’ll be catering to.

It’s nice, though, because it feels like for a few hours a day while he gets some hard work in he’s giving his brain a much-needed break.

It’s even nicer because the inevitable he’d been trying not to think about happens. It’s only a few shifts in when he sees Keith for the first time from behind the counter, both of them apron-clad appropriately.

Keith stops in the doorway when he sees him, glancing up from his phone with a stupor. It tenses Lance, afraid he won’t be able to master the black with an extra shot. There’s a color in both of their cheeks, though both of them are too engrossed in their own surprise and embarrassment to truly notice. Lance putzes with the rag he’d been swiping the counter with, and Keith takes each heavy step in his boots with deadly, hair-raising accuracy.

“Hey,” Keith says, somewhat lamely, “You’re on the wrong side.” He gestures to the counter awkwardly, and though Lance can’t read it himself Keith’s entire face is written with pleasure and surprise at his discovery of how close Lance is at hand truly aside from chance encounters. A shift schedule is so much easier to guess than a coffee break.

“I am.” Lance nods, realizing how blissfully quiet and empty the café is at this exact moment. It’s a dream, almost, meeting Keith like this. Keith’s zit is gone, but there’s a small burn on his wrist Lance notices when Keith sets his hands on the counter. Lance snaps his head up. “What can I get you?”

Black with extra shot. Black with extra shot. Black with extra shot. “Black with an extra shot, please.” Keith says, one of his thumbs working on the other’s cuticle when Lance lets his face hide again to point his knowing smile somewhere else.

“Coming right up!” And it’s quick, because it consists of some of the stuff Lance has gotten to practice the most already. He doesn’t get to see the way Keith watches him work, his back turned, but Keith is mesmerized. Lance moves with an ease and a flair, and he is so fluid and stark all at once in a way that Keith finds himself wondering if someone has ever told Lance. There’s lots of things Lance deserves to know about himself, and Keith thinks a lot about being the person to tell him them. At least, when it comes to that ass and those arms, Keith thinks about them a lot.

The little cardboard cup makes a small click on the clean counter when Lance is finished, and he looks mighty proud of himself. Proud enough to make Keith forget he has to pay and instead just smile at the man and take the drink while he absorbs all that is the pleasure of being near him.

Lance plops down a carrot cupcake wrapped in a neat little box, too. “For the brownie.” He says, smug.

“That was for your drink being spilled.”

“Well, I got a drink. And you didn’t help me spill a brownie but still bought me one, so this is in return. Do—Uh, do you want a different one?” Something flags in Lance’s face, but Keith doesn’t let his thoughts get far before he smiles and grabs the box, flipping it open.

“Nah, I love carrot cake.” He says truthfully, to Lance’s delight. Lance watches as he pops the first bite into his mouth.

He gets frosting on the tip of his nose. He swipes it away in a casual pass. Something suspiciously making him short of breath is clawing through Lance’s throat, and he’s afraid it’s going to expose him for the lovesickness he has, but he doesn’t get the chance to make a fool of himself, because Keith finishes his first bite and looks Lance dead in the eyes.

“What time are you off here?” He asks, moving in for his second bite and stopping himself, “Not uh—Well, are you busy later, is what I mean?”

“Four. No. Not at all.” Lance says, breathless and confused.

Keith allows himself the second bite, then sips his coffee, and Lance is dying of anticipation waiting for him to speak again. “I—Do you want to go catch a movie? Or take a walk? I can meet you here at four?”

“I’d love a walk.” Lance says, hands moving to untie his apron and stopping himself short because he’s got a job and a duty and can’t just walk off right now. “Um, I’ve been meaning to start walking more lately.” He says without thinking.

Keith smiles, though, warm and without hesitation. “Me too. We’ll walk together, then.” It seems like a little bit of a joke, but Lance loves it, feeling himself grin back before he can school any of his features calmer.

“Yeah, we’ll walk together.” Lance grabs a cardboard cup sleeve and moves to scribble his number on it before he forgets again or chickens out once more, but Keith is already backing towards the door when he glances up, and it’d be awkward to make him walk back.

“I’ll be here at four.” Keith says, tipping the door open with his hips due to his full hands. He sends Lance a smile and Lance feels weak at the knees. It’s always awe-striking, and Lance can’t believe he’s finally getting to see it aimed just at him.

“At four.” He says weakly, his grin unending. He doesn’t mind forgetting to give Keith his number as much with the smile in exchange anyway. There’s always four. He thinks, if he was lucky enough to spend more time with Keith, with that smile, there’s not a lot at all he would mind. He thinks if something so warm and private seeming and hesitant could be his—even in a fraction—there’d probably be nothing left to mind at all.

* * *

At two-thirty, Lotor is in the shop. Him and Lance dance around the subject of Lance needing to work at a café when he could easily be making bank selling Monat and start any day, he just had to give Lotor the word. He orders a lemonade and demands fruit to become mushy in it, and Lance makes the miracles happen on that end. He doesn’t miss the way Lotor flashes another glass-to-look-diamond ring at him when taking the drink and plops down at the closest table with his expensive laptop facing the coffee counter. Like, “Look, mr. poor pants, can your master’s program get you this in the end?”

And it isn’t hard for Lance to convince himself it can, and he’s not really worried about it.

At four, he is worried, though, because Lotor won’t….. _leave._ It can’t be an accident, either, because he orders two more drinks and the third one, when Lance tells him he can’t make something because he’s already broken down the machine for the night, just gets turned into something still available. He knows closing is on the horizon, but Lance is hostage. Until he accepts a facebook event invite, probably. Is this a threat? Lance doesn’t know what else to do but text Allura, who says “Oh, that sucks. They’ll clear away eventually.” But Allura doesn’t really know Lotor like Lance does, and she doesn’t know that Lotor is in the midst of entrenching Lance in a scheme to sell hair product by forcing his hand and gaslighting him into thinking he has grey hairs.

Lance will not be fooled, and he will not be threatened. He poignantly cleans the entirety of the coffee bar, and when that’s finished he doesn’t let Lotor’s presence stop him from locking the doors and starting to sweep. Lotor lifts his feet as the broom passes near, and Lance is awed at the gall but sweeps under his table as well. When he passes through with the mop, he does the same.

So, it’s four-fifteen, and he’s even more worried, because Keith is outside of the café waiting patiently. He’s doing something on his phone, out of his burger-flipping uniform, and in his shiny black leather jacket like he just _knew_ that Lance was waiting to see him wearing that again.

“Lotor, is there anything else you need before I close out the register?” Lance tries, failing to hide the desperation in his voice.

“Mm. No, thank you.” He keeps typing, furiously working at something that could probably be done anywhere else. Maybe he’s messaging other people on Facebook telling them all their troubles can go away if they sign up for this great opportunity he’s working on presenting.

“Then….” Lance steels himself, finding resolve when Keith glances over his shoulder through the glass and quickly looks back down at his phone, like he doesn’t want Lance to know he’s waiting anything more than casually. Lance would be a little peeved in his position. He wouldn’t really be, because he’d wait forever for Keith, maybe, but he thinks at least in the moment he’d feel a little frustrated. Nevertheless, he’s going to stand up for himself. He’s going to tell Lotor to leave. He’s going to close the door behind him and lock it and meet Keith so romantically in the alley exit. They’re going to have a fantastic walk.

Lotor is looking at him expectantly, so Lance says, “Then, sorry, I’m afraid you have to go. We’re all closed up and the doors can’t stay open.”

The look Lotor levels him with is even, too neutral to be anything but calculating, and Lance thinks maybe Monat is actually a really good business opportunity if you’re Lotor, banished from your family’s fortune and left destitute with nothing but your own evil wits about you. Maybe you claw your way to the top of a company like Monat for the sake of saying you’ve accomplished a greatness when you’ve fallen farther than you’d ever considered possible, and maybe Lance, despite his disinterest in Lotor’s and great interest in his own preservation of life, is just another stepping stone in the way of Lotor’s being at the top when he can be. Maybe Lance not becoming a downline has been such a great offense all this time because Lotor’s always had more at stake and hasn’t been vapid for anything but a reason. Every time he flips his hair, or asks for fruit in his drinks to turn to mush, it’s for the exact reason that Lance has come to resent his presence – he’s working for something Lance doesn’t understand and he’s scary good at that work.

But Lance doesn’t care about literally any of that, so he makes a little shooing motion with his hand when Lotor doesn’t say anything. “We’re open at six tomorrow, you know. Hate to break it to you this way but your boy’s gotta go.”

“Right.” Lotor says, standing on spindly legs and click-click-clicking his way out of there, practically shoving his expensive laptop into his matching _#BossBro_ bag. When he passes through the doors, Lance can see Keith lift his head just to glare, but Lotor is unfazed by such an intense hatred, probably so used to it all.

Lance taps against the door’s window when he goes to lock it up, and Keith turns his intense look to Lance only for it to soften through the glass. Lance holds up two fingers and mouths ‘ _two secs’_ and Keith’s warm smile returns with a nod. When all the doors are locked and all of the lights are off, Lance emerges quick and sloppily into the alley and takes a moment to straighten himself appropriately. His hair is a mess and he probably reeks like coffee and he thinks he should have chosen different jeans today— _why did he wear these jeans_ —and when he looks up to the end of the alley to get his bearings and look presentable when he emerges, Keith is at the end of it watching him and smiling.

“You all set?” He asks, a little cheeky even though he’s looking away to hide his smile. Lance likes the cheekiness, even if his face is flushed with embarrassment. He huffs a laugh and joins Keith at the end of the alley, and they start walking immediately, though Lance isn’t sure where they might be going. It’s nice, to not wonder, and he’s glad to let his mind clear if Keith has something on his own mind to wind around.

Though Lance has a plan to do so eventually, it’s not intentional when he brushes the back of his hand into Keith’s own as they turn their first corner. His face might as well be on fire because of it, and he can’t even bring himself to look at Keith to see his reaction. If he could, he might see the surprised glance, the quick cast of the eyes across his face before moving to look anywhere else, and Keith’s own pinkness rising high on his cheekbones. But Lance misses it, because he’s thinking about how quickly he can strangle himself with a shoelace.

Their hands brush again, though, and Lance begins to chatter. “So, uh, how long have you been working at Shiro’s place?” He asks, clasping his hands together to keep them in an only slightly awkward position where they can be held more in control.

“Uh,” Keith says famously, “Well, since it opened…so, about three years now I guess.” Lance decides he picked a terrible, boring question from the sound of Keith’s voice, but the other man surprises him by continuing to speak. “Before he opened the place, we both worked at this bookstore my grandpa owns. Um, it’s a little ways out of town but it’s called the Books of Marmora?”

And Lance is surprised again, because he does know that place. “With Kolivan and Axca?” Keith nods, somewhat shyly, and Lance finds himself grinning. “I love that place, my family lives like right around the corner from there. I take my baby cousins and my brother’s kiddos there.”

Keith glances away, but Lance can tell he’s still smiling. “Shame we didn’t run into each other a few years ago then.” Before Lance can reply with something he hopes is just as selective and implies just as much desire, Keith continues, “Our first stop. Do you like gelato?” His eyes flit to the menu at the streetstop ice cream shop, and Lance stops in his tracks to take it in. A sign written in a delicate pastel reads _Biboh Cone Stop_ , and Lance isn’t the most familiar with the area so he delights in knowing it exists now.

“I love gelato.” Lance says, taking in all of the options and not able to figure out what exactly gelato is. “What’s your favorite?”

“Blue raspberry with vanilla.” Keith doesn’t miss a beat, getting them in line and glancing at Lance. “Yours?”

“Wow, same.” He says immediately, because he thinks that sounds good and he knows it’ll be an ice cream of some sort and he’ll like it, whatever it is. Keith glances back at him and his smile quirks, but he has no reason to suspect Lance is a liar about such an inconsequential thing, so he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he orders two small gelatos in that flavor and when he fishes for his wallet Lance strikes, viper-like, to put his own cash from his tips down before Keith can act.

“What-No.” Keith says quickly, still grabbing for his own money, “Take that back, it’s my turn.”

“Um, I doubt it. I call it.” He turns to the girl behind the counter and she nods, taking the cash before Keith can say anything else. He makes a small noise, not quite frustrated but not quite a surprise either.

Lance throws the change in the tip jar on the end of the window, and when they step aside he finds they’re both lacking in conversation. It’s not an awkward silence, but it has Lance wondering what position the two of them are at right now. Lance has been attracted to Keith as long as he’s known—well, seen—him, but all of Keith’s actions and conversations up to date don’t necessarily mean he could be reciprocating. He could just be secretly chatty once you get him going—or just exceedingly kind or tolerant of Lance. He could be hanging out because he’s noticed Lance’s staring and wanted to scope out the situation. He could be taking pity of him because Allura asked him to throw Lance a bone. Lots of good options, really, before Lance is really willing to consider what’s going on right then a date.

He misses when the counter girl calls for them to pick up their gelatos, but Keith leaves him to be distracted while he retrieves them. He gives Lance what must be more than a moment when he returns, too, because eventually Keith juggles the two cups in one hand, grabs Lance’s own to lift it into place, and places the cup into it. “You alright?”

And Lance can only blink into alertness and embarrassment. “Yeah.” He quickly says, gripping the cup. “Yeah, sorry. I was totally zoning out, cringe alert.”

“It’s alright.” Keith’s voice is soft, and Lance knows he means it but wishes Keith didn’t have any extra reasons to think Lance was a weirdo. They start walking down the road again, and when Lance occupies himself with a first few bites of a delicious gelato he speaks again before Lance can begin to worry about the lack of conversation again. “How long have you known Allura?”

And Lance automatically makes a little _pfft_ at the thought, eyes lighting skyward while he does some quick math. “Ooo, that’s a good one. At least five or six years. We met early high school when I had a _huge_ crush on her, and she forgave me for embarrassing her about it and we’ve been friends ever since.”

Keith has a little knowing smile, though Lance doesn’t know for which part. Did he also have an embarrassing crush on the ever magnificent and untouchable Allura at a young and embarrassing time? “I can see that. So, you’re close?”

“Oh yeah.” Lance intones, nodding and taking another bite of his custard. “Allura knows me better than anyone other than like…Hunk, who you know.” He shares a smile with Keith and continues, “Allura’s always been great, if you haven’t known her long yourself. She’s such a leader, and I really admire that. Also a busybody, but that’s alright sometimes. I’m glad she could tell I needed something to take my mind off things like the café, it’s the little things like that that I really think she’s great at noticing.” Lance feels like he’s chattering a little much, but Keith hasn’t interrupted him and they’ve entered the park so it can’t be that horrible. He keeps going. “Hunk notices stuff like that, too, but he helps in totally different ways. Usually much nicer, but Allura’s just not shy about making sure I hear it when I need to. I’ve been in this weird rut waiting for my masters program to get in touch with me about proceeding because of some weird acceptance office misunderstanding, and if I don’t hear from them I’ll be I guess like…shit out of luck on my education for at least a year, et cetera.” He lets another scoop of custard and Italian ice melt on his tongue. “But uh…this is boring, not important stuff. Sorry—”

“It’s okay,” Keith says quickly, “It seems important. You can talk about whatever you want.”

Lance smiles, though he tries to keep it from being rueful. “You’ll regret that.” He can’t help but give a little laugh as well. “So, I’ve been in a weird rut, and…well, Allura basically told me to start being productive or I was just going to stew myself into a mess. And I was, and she’s right like usual. I do that sometimes, I don’t know. It just feels like it’s easier to think about the same few things over and over and over again even though in the long run, obviously, it isn’t. It helps a short term in my brain and a long term that I’m not thinking about it’s actually just like melting me from the inside until I become braindead to the outside world aside from the things I’m focused on. It was a real weird issue during finals.” He laughs actually, then, and when he glances at Keith he can tell that Keith genuinely doesn’t mind, and he doesn’t have to be self-conscious about sharing these details.

“I get it.” Keith says, a bit quieter and like he’s testing out the interjection. “Not exactly the same, but I mean…I’ve been trying to get away from this habit Shiro reminds me about all the time where I just…start to withdraw completely. I just think. And think and think,” he adds, mimicking a part of Lance’s own monologue. “And then a week’s gone by and I realize I don’t even know what I’m really trying to think about, and I’m back to normal.”

They share another look, and Keith finally starts eating his own gelato. Lance says, hiding a laugh, “Sounds like it sucks to have a fry cook who checks out for a week.” And Keith’s surprised laugh is worth any hesitation Lance had to make the little jab. It’s enough to make Lance laugh too, and when they’ve had their moment they share another look, so tender and gentle and everything Lance has ever wanted every time he gazed at Keith from across a café or a street or a dessert display.

“You don’t have a single grey hair.” Keith blurts, and it jars Lance enough to lift a hand to his head as if he could check himself right then.

“What?” Lance asks, bewildered. When he checks Keith’s face again it’s sporting a muted red splashed across his cheeks, and Lance is even further shocked to see the beautiful color.

“You…” Keith coughs, looking away and really looking sorry for himself. “I mean that guy or whoever is always around said you did and I just think that’s such a dumb lie. You’d look fine with some, anyway, but you don’t have any so…” He tosses his half-melted gelato as an escape to turn away towards a garbage can, and Lance tosses his own to join it, brain melting while he thinks about what has just been professed to him.

Finally, when they’re walking again and the silence is heavier than ever, Lance lets his hand drop and brush again Keith’s purposefully. It’s not with a lot of thought behind it, so Lance can’t agonize over the decision to hesitate, but he does allow himself a micro freak out when Keith just plain grabs his hand to intertwine their fingers. “Thank you.” Lance finds himself saying, flexing his fingers into Keith’s and feeling something swollen and worried in his chest start to ease.

Keith brushes off the thanks, like he’s still irritated at the thought that someone would say that to Lance, but he does pass a small smile over. Lance can see the embarrassment still there, no doubt mirrored thrice-fold in Lance’s own face. He never imagined they’d be where they are now, no matter how it can be defined. He never thought…that he’d share that with somebody he looked on to for so long, but here Keith is, exceeding all of his expectations because of one of them finally taking a step towards the other (accidental as that may be).

Suddenly, they stop walking, though. And Keith says, “Wait.” Before pulling out his phone and fiddling around on it. “Before I forget again, can I have your number?”

And Lance grins from ear to ear, fishing into his jeans pocket. He retrieves an only slightly worried cup sleeve from the café, the scribble still legible on it, and when he hands it to Keith he allows himself to look a little sheepish, if only for a second. “I meant to slip this to you earlier, actually.”

Keith takes it, fingers gentle as they brush against Lance’s other hand. He’s smiling, still, and when Lance thinks about it he doesn’t think Keith’s really stopped since they started walking at all. “Thanks.” Keith says.

“No problem at all.” Lance says back.

* * *

Keith is…attractively forward in his text messages. He sets up a second date the same night he drops Lance off, and they text almost to no end about everything and anything in the days leading up to the second. It’s like Lance has Keith without a filter, and he thinks maybe Keith really was true to his word in being in his own head, because he’s…shyer, in a way, in person than he is over text. Lance knows, even from how little they’ve spoken in person, that Keith has his own way of opening up to Shiro and Allura, and their texts feel like a way for Lance to really get a glimpse of that. Of what could be their future.

Keith takes Lance to the park again for a walk, but Lance is more prepared than before and appreciates that Keith took him seriously when they talked about how they wanted to start taking walks. It’s a little thing, but it makes Lance’s chest warm. They hold hands most of the way around the area and have a great time talking about weird customers and some of their other jobs, mostly embarrassing themselves at them as teenagers at said jobs.

And when their afternoon is winding, they sit on a bench into the evening, Lance tucked into Keith’s arm thrown over his shoulders and his mind feeling clear. He hasn’t overthought something to say to Keith all day, and he knows that for certain because he kept overthinking whether or not he was holding himself back too much.

It’s in this moment, softly talking in the gentle park lighting, that Lance feels himself stiffen because of a sound not too far off on the path. It’s a quiet but stiff _click-click-click_. It’s irrational to assume all heel sounds are Lotor about to strike, but it’s happened enough times where Lance was admiring Keith and found Lotor in his path that he finds himself wary.

And Keith immediately notices, his arm on Lance’s shoulders tightening slightly as if Lance is just cold.

Lo and behold, though, Lotor rounds the corner around one of the garden walls and when he catches sight of the two of them, despite his hesitation meeting Keith’s gaze, his eyes lock on and marginally brighten with Lance’s meeting his own.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Keith’s voice rings first. “Buzz off.” Keith says, sparing no quarter in his distaste. “We don’t want to hear it.”

“Um.” Lotor says haughtily, posing in offense and blinking when Lance avoids his gaze. “Really, I don’t think that’s your place, but thanks for the input. I’m here to talk to one of my oldest friends, so maybe you should buzz off yourself.”

“No. Fuck off, keep walking.” Keith’s hand slips to Lance’s waist and pulls him closer, and Lance feels a shock run up his spine at the sensation.

Lotor is ready again, though. “You know, people like you who can’t handle people who make their own way in life like me are the reason so many people don’t take the first step into a better life. Nothing but that judgement. Have a fun time with that and your greasy hair.”

“Do you want there to be a restraining order on you? You’re basically a stalker, stop following Lance around and stop going to the café, or I’ll have you thrown out for good.”

The thought of no longer being allowed to get a drink filled with fruit that will become mushy seems to spark something in Lotor’s processing the situation, and he pauses before storming off. “I’ll get in touch with you about those samples once you dump your shitty boyfriend, Lance. I’m always here for you, honey.”

Lance isn’t listening to him, though, because he has stars in his eyes while he watches Keith try to lessen his fuming. Something must really irritate him about Lotor in particular, because there’s a passion when he glares at the man, and that passion is such a turn on for Lance in any situation.

“Thank you.” Lance says, awestruck and moving to cup Keith’s face. “I can never get him to leave.”

The irritation on Keith’s face seems to etch away at the touch, and before he can say much Lance is leaning forward to kiss him, and the hand on Lance’s waist tightens remarkably in surprise before both of Keith’s arms are thrown around his midsection to hold him closer, so their kiss is all the deeper. They go on with that for quite some time, because Lance is unwilling to stop his gratitude and Keith is so unwilling to stop what seems like the only thing he’s been thinking about since he first saw Lance leaning against the dessert counter the week after the new café across the street opened. Keith knew he was hooked then and, with Lance’s plush lips being everything he imagined and more, he knows he’s even more hooked now.

And Lance’s hands sink from his face to his hair, and they’re basically in each other’s laps when one of them thinks to breathe, though they don’t go far.

“Thank you.” Lance says again, “It was really hot when you told him to fuck off but I promise I’ve thought you were hot much longer than that.”

“You’re welcome.” Keith says with very little attention being spent in the part of his brain that can form conversation. He kisses Lance again, because that’s what both of them are really interested in, and eventually they end up at one of their apartments, but as an independent event with no correlation or thanks to be made to Lotor’s disaster of a stalking sales pitch.

* * *

Lance doesn’t really know, but Allura is actually always aware of when he’s about to take his lunch break because he, among other things, starts mixing together both a frappe and a black with an extra shot. It’s ritualistic, and sometimes the time changes but the way he goes about it is the same. He surveys the store, to see if it’s empty enough, looks to the counters and machines to see if anything needs tending to behind the scenes, and when those are both clear he ducks his head and begins to make two seemingly needed drinks. When they’re finished, he’ll look to Allura with bright eyes and ask, “I’m heading to lunch, do you need anything?”

She always says no, because Lance is very responsible to choose not busy times and she’d never say no to something so innocent anyway, let alone the fact that she’d been running the shifts alone for most of the time the café had been open. When he’s dismissed each time, without fail, he heads directly across the street.

There, he sits in a tiny booth he’s sure by now Pidge keeps intentionally clear for them, and when Keith’s head bobs up above the kitchen window it only takes a few minutes before Shiro ducks into the kitchen and Keith is emerging with chili fries. They share them, holding hands and making Pidge get them more ketchup or an extra few burgers if they want something more substantial.

It’s a beautiful ritual, if you ask Lance. He thinks it’s one that’s sorely needed and appreciates Keith’s willingness to comply to it. He’s starting his program in just a few weeks again and will be departing from the café aside from small weekend shifts when he can manage, and the routine now is all that’s keeping him from rolling up all of his anxiety and hitting the road until it all starts.

Keith is so supportive of all of Lance’s thoughts and decisions, too, even when he’s joking or even when the notion will take a lot of work. It all seems so natural to Keith, to agree or improve and adapt the things they talk about into plans that work for both of them, whether they’re the next few hours or days or years. Keith, unintentionally, is a planner for their future, while Lance throws out the ideas for it and sees what should stick.

Lance thinks often, what if he had missed this? What if, from a distance, he had never known that Keith was the kind of person who could just say numbers and plans for their future where they could fit so seamlessly together? What if he had never spilled that coffee on Keith and was only able to dream of this in his most extensive of fantasies, and even then he could still have gotten it wrong?

Luckily, they didn’t have to.

Lance looks at Keith and wonders, attractiveness aside, what made him so smitten with Keith in the beginning? Privately (though he hopes to share the notion with Keith someday), he likes to imagine there was a force to the two of them, soulmates or whatever the notion truly is. He likes to think a part of themselves were made to find each other. So, he’s glad they did.

**Author's Note:**

> If you or someone you know uses or sells Monat I'm sorry not for offending you but because of that mess


End file.
